


Stories About My Bards

by Syntax



Series: Stories About My D&D Characters [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anthology, Family Fluff, Gen, Gods, Homebrew Content, Hybrids, Late Night Conversations, Letters, Next Generation, Nobility, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntax/pseuds/Syntax
Summary: Sometimes you create the perfect character and then can't find a game to play them in. So naturally, the next best thing to do is write fanfiction about them.Chapter 1: Hollybright Nightsorrow, Aasimar/Halfling College of the Stars BardChapter 2: Wisteria Eutheme, Dhampir College of Spirits Bard
Relationships: Father & Daughter - Relationship, Mentioned Bard/Villain
Series: Stories About My D&D Characters [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832869
Kudos: 1





	1. College Of The Stars

The night air feels really nice on her feathers. She's sitting high up in the sky, perched on her father's massive shoulders, and the wind blows so strongly up here that Hollybright could almost believe it could carry her away flying if she just spread her arms out far enough. And heck, maybe it could. She's probably tiny enough to go pretty far before she hits the ground.

But she doesn't spread her arms out, and she doesn't go flying out into the night. She doesn't have the wings for it anyways. She just kicks out her feet and snuggles closer into her father's own feathers, and she looks out at the stars with him like they do every night before bedtime.

"Do you think Grandma's doing anything different tonight?" Hollybright asks. She makes sure to turn her head and lean over so her words have a better chance of reaching her father's ears instead of being carried away in the wind and lost forever.

Her father makes a rumbling noise as he thinks, something that starts deep in his chest and travels all the way up to where she's sitting, and the vibrations bring a smile to her tiny face.

"There's a few constellations that seem brighter than usual, but that could be for any number of reasons," he says eventually. "My mother prefers to keep Her changes subtle. The only time She gets particularly blatant is during your birthday."

More giggles come blooming up out of her like flowers. She remembers Grandma Nyx's birthday presents. Every year the night sky lights up in her favorite colors, and her favorite constellations shine so bright that people on the other side of the world could see them probably. Grandma Fenwyn and Grandma Amaryillis always look up at the sky like they're sucking on lemons when the stars come out, tut-tutting in that grandma way 'cause 'a lightshow is no proper gift for a growing young girl' or however they say it, but at the same time no amount of cookies or cakes or pretty new dresses could ever compete with turning the stars pink and purple.

The wind stops blowing behind her for a moment and she looks back to see her father's black wings stretching lazily. They're really big, bigger than her father is tall (which is really saying something), but he said he hasn't been able to fly with them for centuries. She can see why: the feathers are all tattered in some places and missing in others. There's a big chunk taken out of one of them that means it can't stretch out all the way without really hurting.

Hollybright stretches her own, tiny, fluffy wings in response. They're not very big, maybe as long as her forearm, and they're probably never going to get a whole lot bigger than they are now. But they're wings, just like her father has, and it's enough to make her feel bad that his are so busted up.

She turns back around and resettles herself in the feathers around his neck and shoulders.

The night air has gotten cold enough that if she blows really hard, she can see her own breath.

"Hey, Dad?" Hollybright calls.

"Yes, Holly?" Her father answers.

"How big do you think I'm going to get by the time I'm all grown up?"

Her father hums again. It's a pretty tricky question.

Her mom's a halfling, but her father's an empyrean. The doctors aren't really sure what she is, but the local priests say Hollybright's probably an aasimar of some kind since her holy blood's so much more diluted that her father's is. She might've taken after her mother so far in terms of size, but non of them really know how tall she's going to get when she's full-grown. She might end up being really tall for a halfling, or maybe end up being human-sized or bigger.

She's not really sure how she feels about that. She likes being small enough to run around places the bigger people can't get to.

"I think," her father says eventually, "that you'll probably end up being taller than your mother, but not much taller than the average human. If you even get that far."

Huh. Hollybright hums back. That's an interesting answer.

"How come?"

"Your wings."

She looks back at the two little bunches of feathers and fluff and flutters them a little. They're small, but that doesn't means she needs to be small. She's seen paintings of little angel babies with wings smaller than hers.

"What about them?" she calls back.

"Your primary feathers have stopped growing even longer. Even among angels, that signifies that you're probably at or near your full height."

Oh. she gives her wings a few more flutters and stretches as the words sink in. Her father's not an angel, but he's probably met enough of them to know how they grow. And, she guesses, probably how aasimar grow too, if that's even what she is.

It's a good answer, she thinks. Especially since it means she's still probably going to be small enough to fit into all of her favorite hiding spots.

Her father rolls his shoulders gently, signaling her that it's time to get down, and holds out a hand for her to hop onto. Hollybright does so gladly. When he lowers his hand back down to the ground she looks up at him to see a kind, sad smile on her father's face.

"Come on," her father says, "let's go give your mother her good night kisses before she falls asleep without us."

She nods, a wide grin stretching across her tiny face. As soon as the hand hits the ground she takes off running back to the house.

"I'll race you to the house!" Hollybright calls back.

For a moment there's silence, and then her father's laughter fills the night, while way up above them the stars seem to twinkle a bit more than usual, as if they were laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollybright Nightsorrow was created because of one simple question: what happens after the bard successfully seduces the bbeg at the end of the campaign? The answer, in this question, is a tiny fluffy baby that honestly kinda forgets that her dad tried to bring about eternal day once. Hollybright's race and background were created with the [Half-Race Handbook](https://www.dmsguild.com/product/299114/The-HalfRace-Handbook), and her class comes from Aaralyn’s Stolen Notes to Velea by Anne Gregersen, which I _would_ link to, but apparently the book has been taken down in preparation for the updated re-release. How exciting!
> 
> Also if anyone wants to know what her dad looks like, picture like a cross between an avoral and a mothman.


	2. College of Spirits

"So you're from Nightholme, right?"

Her smile was wide and full of teeth as Gillbert led her by the hand through the bustling mid-afternoon streets of Dewsbury. The sun stung her pale skin, but it was nothing that Wisteria hadn't felt before since leaving the eternal dusk of her home.

"Yup! Born and raised in the Obsidian City!" she chirped, always eager to talk about her home. "It's a lot like a lot of places I've been to, actually, just not as bright all the time."

Gillbert gave a raspy laugh. "I think I'd have to see it to believe it. I don't mean any offense, but a city of undead sounds awfully strange to me!"

"None taken! Lots of people say that! If it makes you feel better, a city _without_ any undead sounded awfully strange to me too when I left!"

"Wild. Mind telling me why you left then?"

Wisteria's smile grew even wider. She gestured all around them with her free hand, to the people and the places and the blue sky and the blue sea and everything in between.

"Because you can't see places like _this_ just staying cooped up in one city all your life."

Dewsbury was a busy port town, with plenty of people heading in and out at all times all around the streets. She'd been warned even before she left Town Hall that it would be easy to get lost in the bustling metropolitan town, even with a guide. Thankfully, Gillbert seemed more than up to the task. Thus far the orange tabaxi had been able to hold her hand _and_ a conversation as they walked, all while pointing out popular or historically important destinations in town.

Gillbert nodded in understanding, then turned back to the streets in front of them. His ears perked up as he spotted something in the distance.

"Ah, speaking of the dead, our famous House Of The Witch Goddess is coming up on the other street. You see it? Grey stone with the red skull painted on the façade?" He explained, raspy voice not changing at all as he shifted from talking to telling. 

They came to a stop in the sidewalk so she could get a better look. Wisteria didn't bother letting go of Gillbert's hand. She rather liked the feeling the warm fur and pawpads against her cold skin. She did, however, have to stand up on her tippy toes to see the building above the heads and carts roofs of the living sea that was Dewsbury traffic. Such was the life of a shorty.

"I see it!"

Gillbert nodded. "You're free to go in if you want, especially to worship, but we ask that you not practice any magic within its walls without the express permission of the clergy, or the entombed's remaining family. There's a lot of famous people in there, and some of their descendants in town have reported that their ancestor's spirits have been bogged down lately with people wishing to speak with the dead. Or try bringing them back to life for some reason."

Wisteria scowled, and puffed out her cheeks in only slightly exaggerated anger. "How rude! If someone's gone to sleep, let them sleep. They'll come to _you_ if they want to talk."

A tug came on her cold hand, so she turned away from the grand temple to Wee Jas and started walking again, letting Gillbert lead her to their next destination.

"Tell me about it," the tabaxi said. "'Gone to sleep', huh? That's an interesting phrase. Is that what they say in Nightholme?"

The change in her mood was instant. "Yup! Most everyone's dead already, so when someone wants to be dead and unbothered, we say they've gone to sleep, cause it's _really rude_ to bother someone when they're sleeping. Grandfather was _super_ serious about that rule, even if it means he has to deal with a lot more paperwork."

"Oh really? So does your grandfather work in administration then?"

"Uhm, something like that I think, yeah."

Gillbert sounded surprised. "You don't know?"

"Well he's never really outlined what his job is to me!"

A beat of silence seemed to pass between them as Gillbert gave her a look, and then he started to laugh. Wisteria puffed up her cheeks again. Suddenly she didn't even want to hold his hand anymore. But there really was a throng of people around them all moving this way and that, and she's paid quite a lot of money for a guided tour, so she held on until eventually finding the humor in the situation herself and letting out a few giggles with him.

The rest of her tour passed similarly congenially. Gillbert lead her on a meandering round trip through Dewsbury before arriving back at Town Hall, where she gave him a fond hug goodbye and started her walk back to the inn she'd be staying at for the next day or two. It depended on how long Dewsbury would hold her attention.

Dinner at the inn was lovely, with plenty of people to talk to and plenty of good food to eat. If Wisteria ended up spending a bit too much money on rare meats and delectable sweets, well. That was her prerogative to do so. She was practically on vacation. And she might not use her instrument for spellcasting, but she was still a trained bard—whatever she overspent, she could absolutely earn back busking in the streets.

At least, that's what she wrote in her letter back home that night, along with everything else she saw and did and had fun with. She might be free to travel the world as she liked, but with Grandfather being the paranoid old man that he was, he'd only agreed to let her go if she'd made frequent updates on how things were going. Wisteria chose to interpret that as writing a letter home every night and sending it off every morning. Or sending a bunch of letters off in the morning if she'd gone a few days without access to a post office or dovecote or courier.

Those tended not to be good days. She usually ended up worrying about Grandfather worrying about her and made her letters extra long.

Thankfully, Gillbert had shown her where the post office was the day before during their tour, even if he'd been a bit confused at first as to why she would want to see that building in particular, so sending off her letters while she's still in Dewsbury won't be a problem. Getting up early enough to arrive before the mail went out that day might be, though. Wisteria did not have a good relationship with the morning sun.

The next day came sooner than she would've liked. Wisteria had set an _alarm_ outside of the innkeeper's bedroom door, figuring that someone who had to be up in time to serve everyone breakfast would probably also be up before the post went out for the day.

She was correct. And also very tired. The sky overhead was still dark with traces of lingering night. At least the morning sun wasn't fully up yet.

She headed out to the post office as quickly as she could, trying to retrace her steps from yesterday and failing miserably a few times before finally arriving at the sleek, white-painted building. There was hardly anyone inside—probably because of the early hour. Wisteria got a feeling that the post office being open at all right now was probably because of the person manning the counter. Rather than a being of flesh and blood that required sleep, the office was manned by a man of metal, an unsleeping construct. Warforged, she believed this type was called. Invented just a few scant decades ago. How novel!

"Hello! One letter inbound to Nightholme, if you please," Wisteria said, stepping up to the counter with an envelope in her hand and a pep in her step.

The warforged eyed her for a moment as if only just suddenly realizing there was another person in the building. They straightened up to a rather impressive height and threaded their limited fingers together.

"Nightholme, huh? That's pretty pricey postage getting to the Obsidian City, especially from here. You got enough to pay the delivery fee?"

Wisteria was already reaching into her bag. "Yup, I sure do. That's—" she pulled out a handful of coins, enough that some fell out of her open grip and scattered about on the floor with a harsh clinking—"probably enough. Is it? I can grab more."

The warforged postman eyed her leaking fistful of gold coins with an expression that Wisteria couldn't decipher. They made a grating noise not unlike a laugh.

"That's fine. You only needed twelve."

"I can do twelve!"

"Glad to hear it. You got a name and address for the recipient of this letter?"

She nodded profusely, placing what she needed on the counter and stuffing as many of the remaining coins into her bag as she could. "Firstly, The Stately Manor of the Nightlord Himself, yes that is the building's full title, yes we do make fun of it all the time."

The warforged pulled out a notepad and started writing the information down. "Wonderful. And the name?"

"Lord Orpheus Hesperaed, the First and Only," Wisteria said.

They stopped writing. The warforged gave her a glance, radiating skeptical energy despite not showing any of the emotion on their face.

She propped up the cameo hanging around her neck with a thumb, drawing the warforged's attention right to it. She saw their expression shift ever so slightly as they recognized the profile inscribed in the porcelain. What excellent craftsmanship they had. Someone had clearly put love and care into the person standing before her.

They started writing again, somewhat more quickly this time. Wisteria gave them a smile.

It was wide and full of sharp teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wisteria Eutheme is made with the following resources: the Dhampir race from [Unlikely Heroes for 5th Edition](https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/188497/Unlikely-Heroes-for-5th-Edition) by Kobold Press, and the [UA College of Spirits](https://media.wizards.com/2020/dnd/downloads/UA2020_Subclasses04.pdf) bard subclass. She (and her grandfather) are also heavily inspired by the really cute "Gramps" comics by [EIRRI](https://twitter.com/EIRRI).


End file.
